DIC (Driving Into Clarksdale) ppc

["Bergeon TC (Thomas) at MSXSEPC" <TB831668@xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx>]

A Warm Hello Gang

It's been over three weeks but here's a little blurb on my roadtrip up to
Michigan

I decided to drive I-55 from New Orleans to Memphis, and diverge off the
main highway into the Northwestern Mississippi Delta area where the blues
was born.  On a hot summer day, and mid-week menacingly open highway,  I
departed.  The main highway was uneventful, except for a brief stop at the
Casey Jones museum to check out the infamous train wreck.  I asked if
anybody ever mentioned the Greatful Dead song while visiting, and the
elderly black lady nodded, then when I told her the lyrics she was a bit
ruffled over their portrayal of such a hero.

Heading off the main highway to Rosedale, Mississippi (birthplace of Robert
Johnson), I turned onto highway 61 and headed north.  Once one gets over
five miles from the modern interstates, the country reveals it's true
essence, and looks and feels like one was traveling 60 years back in time.
If only I could have hopped a boxcar into town. Mesmerized by the land and
proceeding a bit too fast I was suddenly spotted by a State Trooper headed
the other way , 74 in a 60, ouch.  The John Wayne sized officer got out of
his car, noticed my Louisiana plates and submissive body language and asked
what part of La I was from.  When I responded New Orleans, he informed me of
his recent fishing trip just east of there, we discussed details and then
asked what I was doing so far off the main roads.  When I replied that I
really wanted to see and feel the country where the blues and modern rock
and roll received it's true origins, he lit up and proceeded to tell me of
all the historic spots and festivals that one shouldn't miss.  Needless to
say after 10 minutes of this I was warmly advised of the speed limit and no
ticket forthcoming.  I wasn't as lucky in the Smokies on my return trip,
mind you!

Driving into Clarksdale was a real experience.  The old juke joints, the
migrant workers, the run down shanty houses, and the oppressive heat all
enlivened the experience.  Once I reached Clarksdale, the Blues museum was
the prime destination.  Up the hallway and wham, on the bullitin board is a
photo of P/P with three of the blues museum staff.  I proceeded to ask for a
xerox and talked to two of the lucky participants. They had stopped a week
earlier between Tupelo and Birmingham and spent two hours in the museum
pouring over old records and archives.  The woman said that since the record
was released they have gotten alot more long haired freaks visiting. And she
felt that the album and song really had no bearing on what Clarksdale is
really about.  I explained it more to her, and then we proceeded to see the
museums wares ourselves.  My 10 year old daughter really enjoyed the ongoing
concert, and was amazed when we walked to the back and the blues guitar
soloist was a 14 year old black girl, and the drummer ten.  Such emotional
playing,  so young, her comments were "to hell with Hanson".  Anyway, the
boys didn't stop in during their Chicago Hiatus, but I did buy a shirt, pin,
coffee mug and a nice blues compilation box set.  5 days later in Grand
Rapids Jimmy had a huge smile on his face, pointed and mouthed nice shirt to
one so fortunate to have BestBuy seats in the third row in front of him.  I
can't wait to go back when I have more time, see one of the fall festrivals
and delve further through my camera lense at this great land so etched with
the soulful.

Tom